


Homeward Bound

by jamiesfreckles



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: BABY CARSTAIRS, Cows, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Book 3: Queen of Air and Darkness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-21 14:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17045150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamiesfreckles/pseuds/jamiesfreckles
Summary: Kit learns to grow in Devon, learns how to fit into a family. It’s not like there’s much else for him to do there, except talk to cows.“I still love him,” Kit admits, just for the cows' ears only. He trusts her not to tattle. “I don’t think I can stop.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a story about Kit and Ty, after. No warnings, but possibly spoilers, since this is canon compliant and post-QOAAD.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kit’s only been here for about two weeks, and he’s already bored of it all. There’s no boardwalk, no bright sunshine, no Shadow Market brimming with the hubbub of life and aloof mischief.
> 
> There are no Blackthorns in Devon either, and that’s perhaps the worst part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I might add to this a little. Maybe expand on Kit’s life with Tessa and Jem, the new baby, and a Ty and Kit reuinion? I’d like to see them grow and heal. But if that’s not something people are interested in, then I hope you enjoy this little piece regardless! 
> 
> Thank you!

Devon is one long, dull day stretched out into an eternity. Whoever created Devon was tired, lazy, and having an off day. Kit can go outside in the morning, walk for miles in any direction and find nothing but grassy brown hills, a few sheep and maybe a postbox, if he’s lucky. Los Angeles went on forever, but at least Kit could find something to do when he went out (not that he did that often, thanks to the over-protective, secretive limitations set on his life by Johnny Rook).

Kit’s only been here for about two weeks, and he’s already bored of it all. There’s no boardwalk, no bright sunshine, no Shadow Market brimming with the hubbub of life and aloof mischief. 

There are no Blackthorns in Devon either, and that’s perhaps the worst part. 

It was probably a mistake to leave the Institute behind, but it didn't feel like one at the time. It felt like the only safe option, the only way he wouldn’t crack under the weight of the ache in his chest. It felt like the start of something. 

Now, it just feels like a rash, foolish decision. He didn’t even say _goodbye._

“You have no idea how good you’ve got it,” Kit tells the nearest cow. It’s wandered over from the middle of the field, flicking its ears near Kit’s face. There’s a fence between them and a bedraggled hedge acting as a barrier, but he’s not sure he trusts the big lumbering beast to pay attention to solid obstacles: they look ruthlessly stupid. 

The cow lows, a deep soft sound, and Kit feels it in the earth under his feet. He sighs, offers the cow a wave, and starts to pick his way back to the house. 

Home, now. 

*

“You have a postcard, Kit.”

Kit takes another savage bite of toast and stops in the doorway. Tessa’s holding up the little white rectangle when he turns, reluctant, and faces her. 

“You can take it in your room, if you like,” she offers. She’s been gentle with him since they came here, but firmly no-nonsense material. She lets him go where he wants as long as there’s communication between them, and she doesn’t force him to spend time with them, but training and lessons are strongly encouraged. It’s sort of nice, and sort of weird, and really really awkward. 

“Nah,” Kit says, swallowing a lump of buttery bread and crossing the room. “Here’s fine. Thanks.”

He wipes his hands on his jeans before he takes the postcard from Tessa. It’s got a generic beach on the front, the water frozen just before it crashes down against the sunny seaside. 

The back of the postcard is covered in Emma’s scrawl. 

“Anyone important?” Tessa asks idly, her eyes sharp even as she distractedly gathers papers off the kitchen table. Kit wonders if she’s read it already, and then feels bad for the suspicion. Even if she has read it, it’s only for his safety. 

“Uh, Emma,” Kit admits. “She’s with Julian. I think they’re having a good time.”

Tessa watches him keenly for a moment. When she speaks, her voice is warm, and knowing, as if she can somehow sense his disappointment at who wrote the postcard. 

“You can put it on the fridge if you like.” 

Kit does just that, stuffing it under a magnet of a dancing pig, and then high tails it out of the room. 

*

Jem and Tessa are kind. They’re strict sometimes, but only when it comes to his safety - he has a feeling that anything he does will come as no shock to them. They’ve seen everything, judging by the way they look at the world. 

He likes them. But it’s undeniably strange to go from conversing with two people a couple of times, to flat out _living_ with them. 

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” Jem says one evening, when Kit’s hunched up awkwardly on the couch near him. Jem’s got the armchair, a cushion wedged under him as he reads, but they’re still close. 

“I mean, it’s either this or I sit in my room, alone, so,” Kit points out, letting his voice trail off. “But if you want me to go, I can.” 

Jem pauses, before shutting his book. He looks quite comfortable in a sweater and a pair of thick socks, his hair glinting in the lamplight. 

“That’s not what I meant, Chr-Kit.”

Tessa uses his name seamlessly, but Jem jumps around a little bit, forgetting. He always corrects himself though, which is nice. 

“Teenagers probably aren’t great company,” Kit admits, shrugging. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me to stay upstairs.”

“I don’t,” Jem says firmly. He shifts so that his eyes, clear and intense, fix on Kit in a way that cuts through him. Shadowhunters, Kit thinks, are all really into intense, overly-familiar eye contact. 

Well, not _all_ of them, he thinks after a moment, his stomach churning. 

“I know this is a bit strange,” Jem ventures. 

Kit snorts. It’s possibly a bit rude, and he flushes immediately afterwards. 

Jem aims a wry look at him. “Okay, a _lot_ strange. But even though you don’t have to be here, and you can do whatever you think is best, Tessa and I need you to know that we want you here, Kit.” 

Kit flushes even further, sinking down in his seat as he folds his legs underneath him. 

“Yeah, well,” Kit says, aiming for flippant and missing by a mile, “most people do. I’m in high demand, you know, so you better enjoy me while you can.” 

“Ah, humour to detract from an emotional moment. That’s a Herondale evasion tactic if I’ve ever seen one.” 

Jem crooks a smile at him when Kit lifts his chin enough to glare daggers in his direction. 

“Alright, I like being here,” Kit says, rolling his eyes. “It’s nice. I just - don’t really know what to do. I haven’t had… this. Not before the Blackthorns. Not even really with the Blackthorns. They were home, or what I think home is supposed to feel like, but it was never…” 

“Peaceful?” Jem suggests. He looks thoughtful when Kit nods. “I think comfort will come with time and familiarity. But as for boredom or restlessness - well, what do you like to do?” 

Kit shrugs. “I used to play video games when I had to hide downstairs. I don’t really know.” 

Jem looks almost sad for a moment. Kit shifts, ready for indignance to fill him (he’s never liked pity, would rather poke his own eyes out than see someone feeling sorry for him) but Jem doesn’t look pitying. Just sad. And then he pays his book thoughtfully and stands up from the armchair. 

“We could probably do something about that in the future,” Jem says, striding towards the bookshelf near the mantelpiece. It’s a very fancy house: simple layout, not lot a of rooms, but all of them packed with elegant, homely features. 

“Yeah?” Kit sits up a little eagerly. 

Jem quirks a smile over his shoulder. “Yeah. I know we wanted to take you to a store, get you some things that are yours. Clothes and boots, for the cold weather, and things to use, you know?” 

Kit blinks, surprised. Jem recounts it as though it’s a known thing, a simple fact, that he’d have all those things just because they’ve let him stay here. Kit doesn’t know how to tell Jem that they don’t need to do that, that he’s fine how he is, that he’s gone - not without, but with less, for a very long time. He clears his throat, watching Jem poke about in the shelves, but the words don’t come. 

“I wouldn’t say no to some socks,” Kit says instead, wiggling his toes and trying not to look up, trying not to hold his breath. “Even Jace would struggle to be hot here.” 

Jem snorts, and then turns with something in his hands. “We can do socks, I think. Here.” 

It looks like a thin book, offered to him, and Kit tries not to grimace. 

“Not to be rude, but, uh - I don’t really read for fun.” 

He’s not stupid, although next to Ty - his mind stumbles, corrects itself with a shaky breath - next to Ty, he looked a bit like a houseplant. One that hadn’t been watered in a while, and was beginning to eat its own leaves. 

He’s not stupid, but there have always been more interesting ways of looking at the world than through a book.

Jem’s eyes twinkle. “Don’t let Tessa hear you say that. That’s blasphemy in this family.” 

Kit feels something ripple through him. Family. He likes that word, even though the gulf of fear that’s been sitting in his chest since he lost his last family shudders and grows a bit wider. 

“Give it a shot,” Jem says. “Maybe you’ve just not found the right book yet.” 

Kit takes the book, and Jem retreats to his armchair, not too far away. Jem opens the book he’d abandoned and turns to the right chapter, which is when Kit realises that he’s actually holding what feels like three very slim books. 

He glances down, surprised.

They’re comics. Three comics, shiny in their plastic. The price tags are gone but there’s still a sticker on the top right of the first one, obscuring the green logo. 

He’s not read many comics, but he’s always wanted to. He sneaks a look up at Jem, only to find him studiously buried in his own book. He looks perfectly relaxed, but there’s still something about him that makes Kit narrow his eyes. 

Kit glances back down at the comics. 

They’re brand new. The plastic is still on them, and they haven’t been touched. Kit wonders absently if there’s a bin in the house with a carrier bag in, or a receipt. 

“Thanks,” Kit says quietly. He feels warm and a bit embarrassed, but it’s a nice feeling, like when someone goes overboard on Christmas presents and you realise it’s because they care. 

Jem went out and bought comics, and then he hid them on a shelf, just in case Kit came to him. In case Kit wanted to spend time with him, but didn’t know what to do. 

“No problem,” Jem says. “We should have something to do, shouldn’t we, if we’re going to be alone here in the evenings.” 

Kit can hear the teasing note in his voice, and snorts. He burrows down into the cushions, unable to feel anything but pleased and warm, and peels the plastic off the first comic. 

*

“Okay, so it’s not all bad,” Kit tells the cow. He’s not sure it’s the same cow, since they all look roughly the same, but he chooses to believe that he’s made a friend here. 

He leans against the fence, scuffs his shoe against the ground. 

“They’re taking me shopping so we can buy walking boots and coats and stuff,” Kit says. The cow flicks her ear, possibly interested, possibly itchy. “And socks. And maybe a PlayStation or something. I don’t know how rich they are but they seem fine. If it’s too expensive I’ll just sell a kidney or something.” 

The cow lows, soft and deep. 

“Yeah, it is a good plan, isn’t it?” Kit takes a moment, plucking a daisy from the hedge and swallowing. “I haven’t heard from Ty. Emma sent me another postcard, which was cool of her. Not that I expected to hear from Ty, not after what I said. And I don’t really know what to feel yet, I guess, so I don’t know if I want to hear from him.” 

He plucks a petal off the daisy and watches it fall into the hedge. “Yeah, that’s a lie. I do want to hear from him.”

He plucks another petal. They’re pink at the very edge. 

“I still love him,” Kit admits, just for the cows ears only. He trusts her not to tattle. “I don’t think I can stop.” 

The cow doesn’t have any words of wisdom for him, sadly. She does look a bit like she fancies his daisy, though. 

“I didn’t mean to tell you all that,” Kit says. “I was just saying that it’s not all bad here. And it might change with the baby, and something's bound to go wrong, and I’ll have to sell _both_ kidneys just to be able to afford rent on my box in the nearest alleyway, but still. It’s good for now.” 

The cow drifts nearer, and Kit throws her the daisy. He’s seen the cows eating them off the hedgerows, so he figures it’s fine. 

The little brick-like mobile phone that Tessa got him shakes in his pocket. 

“Time to go sock shopping, I guess,” Kit says. “Don’t tell the other cows about my love woes, yeah?” 

The cow lows again, chomping slowly on the stem of the crushed daisy. 

Kit takes that as a _maybe_ and picks his way across the fields, towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kit grins, a quick, aching thing. He’s found a lot of important things since his dad died and the truth tumbled out. He’s managed to lose most of them, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You were all so lovely that I thought I'd add a bit. If I were to continue, I think it'd be post-baby scenes, and then chapters with Ty actually present, in the future, since we know they don't reunite for a while. I'm curious about what Kit would be like as an older brother, and I sort of want to see how the postcard/Ty/long-distance thing works out too, if it works out. I hope you like this!
> 
> Thank you for your lovely comments and likes and views! <3

The front of Kit’s house - Number 46, known by the locals as Bucca House - is very normal, considering the occupants are anything but. 

Sometimes Kit tries to pretend that he’s perfectly normal, Dursley-style, and then he remembers that he has a questionable ancestry, runes on his skin, and an ongoing appointment in the training room beside the downstairs bathroom. There’s absolutely nothing normal about his life. 

The Dursleys were awful people, anyway, and normal is overrated, so it’s fine. 

A set of neat stone steps leads up to a plain front door, marked with so many invisible protection wards and runes that it could knock over a horse four miles away, if horses were spooked by such things. Every other morning, Kit has to sweep the leaves off the porch and down the steps and onto the path the cuts through the field outside, and it makes absolutely no difference. It’s a pointless, fruitless endeavour. 

“They just blow back up,” Kit mutters to himself, leaning on his broom as he watches his hard work drift away aimlessly. Or - not aimlessly, actually, because the leaves seem to have a goal in mind, and the goal is back the way they came. The goal is driving Kit up the wall. 

The bristles of the broom bend beneath his weight, and he rights himself before he can fall flat on his face, glancing furtively around to make sure nobody’s watching, but there’s nobody around. 

It’s a cold, grey morning. Bucca House is quite a way up a hill from the village, out of touch with the rest of the world. There are three sets of mud-caked boots outside the front door, on the porch, one set a bit smaller than the others. The leaves begin their slow, endless arc of returning from whence they came, creeping up the steps and onto the porch, just as Jem opens the front door. 

He’s pulling on a pair of thick gloves, but he pauses briefly to survey the ground, scattered with leaves, before arching an eyebrow at Kit. 

“Not done yet? You’ve been out here for ages.”

Kit scowls. “No, I’m not _done._ We live in the country! The leaves rule us, here. They have it out for me, you know.”

Jem makes an amused sound, pulling the door shut behind him only to receive an indignant yelp from the small woman half-hidden in shadow. His expression turns to one of horror, and he lets go of the handle like it burned him.

Tessa rubs her arm where the door hit her, looking wryly amused as she steps out onto the porch. “Apparently it’s not just the leaves that have it out for someone today.”

Kit snickers, ignoring Jem’s half-hearted glare. Kit wouldn’t want to meet Jem in the battlefield, and he would probably turn tail and run if he had to challenge Jem to anything other than a game of Mario Kart (although even in that, Jem is intense and ruthless in a way that can be scary when applied right). Jem is intimidating when he wants to be, but he’s completely _hopeless_ when it comes to discipline, or staying cross, or anything vaguely negative, but non-battle related. 

Tessa, though, is someone that Kit doesn’t think he would cross regardless of the situation. 

“I didn't see you,” Jem says, his voice softening slightly as he offers an apologetic, slightly teasing smile at Tessa. “You keep saying that Kit needs to eat his greens. Maybe he’s not the only one.”

 

“Kit wants to be big and strong, and not throw up a lung when he walks upstairs,” Tessa points out, grinning at Kit’s affronted exclamation. “I’ve already done my growing.”

Jem sweeps her into a kiss, both of them laughing. They’re always doing that: making fun of him and then each other and then kissing and being in love. It’s nice, and a bit gross, but mostly just nice. 

Love is a funny old thing. Kit’s in no place to give big speeches or have profound thoughts when it comes to love, but he thinks he can easily say that it’s a funny old thing with the power to darken just as many hearts as it brightens. 

Kit grew up around the darker parts: his dad’s love for him (proof of existence pending further examination) was estranged and aloof. He’s seen a bit of the darkness. 

With a tenderness that hurts to witness, Jem brushes a stray piece of Tessa’s hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. 

“You know,” Kit says blithely, leaning on the broom again, but a bit more carefully this time, “you’re in public. People can see you. There’s laws against this sort of thing.”

He can see Jem trying not to laugh against Tessa’s mouth - ew - and they draw back with a fond, exasperated sigh. Tessa shakes her head, smiling, a little flushed. 

“The resemblance really is terrifying,” Tessa says under her breath. 

Jem agrees, if his laughter is anything to go by. Kit has an inkling of whom they mean when they say things like that, but he hasn’t gathered the courage to ask for more than the odd story here and there. 

“You’re going to be late,” Kit says. “I don't think kissing is gonna stand up in court.”

“Neither is sarcasm, when the jury gathers to discuss the leaf situation.” Jem winks. He kisses Tessa again before jogging down the steps, the leaves swirling all around him as he stirs them up. 

Kit doesn’t get a kiss, thank God, but he does get his hair ruffled and a half-hug as Jem strides across the field. Tessa moves to stand beside Kit, prodding the broom as though to say, _oh, look, it’s not broken, what a shock._

“He looks like something out of a Fall Fashion Catalogue,” Kit says, still watching Jem. 

Tessa lets out a startled laugh.

“D’you think he practices? Goes for walks in the garden when we’re asleep.” Kit grins up at Tessa. “We should get him a wind machine for his birthday, so he can practice in the comfort of his own bedroom.”

“Sometimes I think you don't let your brain have a say in what comes out of your mouth,” Tessa says. She shoves him gently, pointing at the ground. _“Leaves,_ Kit.”

“We live in the _country,_ Tessa,” Kit returns, but he’s grinning as he attacks the leaves with a renewed vigour.

*

Kit hits the floor with a thump, winded. He lies there for a bit, examining the smooth plaster on the ceiling, absently taking in the tiny crack in one corner.

“This mat is kinda comfortable, after a while,” Kit says, his voice a little wheezy, like a toy that’s lost its squeak. “The longer you make me stay in here, the more it starts to feel like a bed.”

Tessa laughs kindly, offering him a hand as she towers over his prone, aching form. “You’re doing better.”

“Oh yeah,” Kit agrees. “That’s what I think every time I bandage my bleeding wounds.”

Tessa pulls him up easily. Nobody who got more than a quick distracted glance at her would ever say she was weak or incompetent, but she’s still deceptively strong to the point where it’s a little scary. She _lifted_ Kit the other day. Bodily lifted him. Kit can’t wait until he gets tall enough to return the favour.

“Most Shadowhunters train from birth,” Tessa says, as she tugs him over to the bench and presses a water bottle into his hands. “They study strategy, tactics, languages, politics. They train with a variety of weapons, and learn all sorts of combat skills. They get stronger, fitter, faster.”

Kit grimaces, taking a gulp of his water. “I must have been taking a nap when they handed out the good genes.”

“My point is, none of it was handed to them at birth,” Tessa says, reaching up to rearrange her plait. “They had to work to get where they are. The genes that they did have, the instincts and fast reflexes that can help you in a fight - you _have_ those. But you weren’t born into this like you should have been, so it’s just going to take a bit of time to learn the rest. You didn't grow up around this.”

Kit lowers the water bottle, frowning. “Is it...”

Tessa waits, her fingers working fast with her hair-tie as she watches him patiently. 

“Is it bad that I don't mind what I missed, sometimes?” Kit gets the words out quickly. “I know it kind of sucked, growing up in the Shadow Market, having to hide and steal. I don't miss it usually. But I’m kind of glad I didn't grow up in the Shadowhunter’s world, not properly.”

“Neither did I,” Tessa reminds him, letting go of her hair and pressing a hand against his cheek, a fleeting touch. Her fingers are warm, fragile, strong. “I love this world, and I couldn’t be happier that I found it. Even if it hurt me and the people around me more often than not.” Her eyes crease with an old pain that still looks fresh, and then brighten just as quickly. “But finding it, rather than knowing it from the very beginning - I don't know, I think it makes it all the more special now. More important.”

Kit grins, a quick, aching thing. He’s found a lot of important things since his dad died, and the truth tumbled out. He’s managed to lose most of them, too. 

Emma still writes him postcards. Some of them are blank, covered in painted pictures of Emma with ice cream on her face, or a pretty sunset, or the sea: those ones are from Julian, Kit’s pretty sure. Dru called him the other day, just for a minute, just to say hello, on some fancy Magnus-made phone that wouldn’t incur a bank-breaking charge. He could hear Tavvy shouting happily in the background. 

It’s not like he’s _lost_ them all, not really. But the one lost person that he wants to talk to most, besides the unreachable ones, wouldn’t want him to call. So it feels like a loss, like a piece of him was scooped out and stuffed in a drawer in Los Angeles before he left. 

“Kit?” Tessa’s voice is soft, worried. 

“I’m fine,” Kit says, stepping back slightly and slipping on a grin that’s two sizes too small and fools nobody. “All fine here. Let’s go back to you kicking my ass. I was really enjoying that.”

*

Daisy is the most common cow name in the book, according to every story that’s ever contained a cow. It’s right up there with Bessie and Mable. Kit’s never considered himself _creative,_ not really, but even he can do better than that. 

“What about Evelyn?” Kit suggests, propping one elbow up on the fence, ankle-deep in mud and thankful for his new boots. “Calpurnia?”

The cow is never really an expressive creature, but even she seems to find Calpurnia distasteful and odd. 

“Fine, not Calpurnia. I don't even know if you’re the same cow I told my troubles to,” Kit says, kicking at a clump of grass. “You could be an imposter, for all I know. A fake cow. A spy for the enemy. God, I’m bored.”

He ends up out here a lot. The fields full of cows aren’t too far from Bucca House, but he still has to walk for a bit to reach them, giving the sheep in the middle of the grass a wide, wary berth. He’s learned not to underestimate the shifty bastards.

Sheep aren’t as bad as swans, granted, but give him a soft, dumb cow over both of them any day. 

“What about Lavender? Rose? Heather?” Kit runs out of flowery names quite quickly, but the last one makes him stop and tip his head to the side anyway. “Huh, that’s not bad actually.”

He’s not actually bored, but it’s a nice excuse. They have a routine now: since it’s been actual years since Kit went to a proper school, they came to a mutual decision to work with tutors. So there’s training, tutoring, a few odd chores (like the ongoing war on leaves in general) and small errands. Jem’s got a job as a policeman - Magnus at work again, with his sparkly fingers and wily ways - and he doesn’t have to do much, considering it’s a small village where nothing happens, but it keeps up appearances and helps him shift some restlessness when there’s not much Shadowhunting to be done. Tessa apparently does six thousand things that Kit doesn’t understand how she can fit into her schedule, and that’s without adding training and Warlock stuff into the mix. He’s pretty sure sometimes she even works at the Post Office. 

Watching them build a little life, a stable home, a family together - it’s a little inspiring, actually. Kit doesn’t know everything, but he knows they’ve waited for each other a long time, that a large chunk of life got carved away. For the better, maybe, but still. 

It’s nice to see them get together in the end. It’s even nicer that he gets to be a part of it all, that they’re building everything they want with him in the picture, too. 

“Heather it is,” Kit says to the newly-named cow, listening to the fence creak as he leans against it, swinging one foot and watching mud fleck the air. If he pretends he’s bored, if he pretends there’s not a new comic sat at home or games to play or ingredients to muddle through for dinner - then it’s alright. It’s alright that he’s out here, shaking inside. 

Heather lumbers over to chew on a healthier patch of grass. Kit blows out a sigh. 

Ever since he talked to Tessa about finding important things, he can’t get Ty out of his head. He found an important thing, the most important thing, and now he’s thrown it away. 

He thinks it’s alright, how he felt. He was hurt and sad. It felt like a hand around his throat, to hear that all he had to offer was nothing, really. What he said later, and how he left it - that was less alright. Still understandable, but less alright. 

He wonders if Ty feels as lost as he does, now. He wonders if he’s holed up in a room, alone, studying quietly, his back rigid, his gaze hollow. It makes Kit shake even further, although he plucks grass from the hedge as he walks alongside it, tries to disguise the shaking with little rips and tears of green. 

*

Jem and Tessa are the most observant people in the world. Sometimes that’s nice, sometimes it’s a relief, and sometimes it’s incredibly irritating. Sometimes it manages to be all three.

“Chri-Kit.” Jem looks exasperated with his own tongue, frowning slightly. “Are you okay?” 

He crouches in front of Kit on the floor. Kit shrugs and pulls the comic closer, trying to sink into the cushions around him. 

“We don't mind tears in this house,” Tessa says, sitting beside him on the couch. She puts a hand on his knee, gentle but reassuringly firm and solid. He wipes his eyes roughly with his sleeve and pretends to be absorbed in his comic. 

“It’s a really moving character arc,” Kit says, gesturing loosely at the bright, blurred colours merging on the glossy page. 

Tessa squeezes his knee. 

“I miss the Blackthorns,” Kit blurts. He sucks in a breath, a bit shaky. “I - I miss all of them. Emma and Julian and Dru and Tavvy. I barely even knew Helen and Aline, but I miss them too. Cristina was really nice, and Keiran agreed with me, that Shadowhunters were weird. I even miss Mark’s bad cooking. And - and Livvy.”

His voice wavers at the end. 

Tessa and Jem share a look, the kind that’s only ever shared between people who know each other inside and out, for better or for worse, all the good and the bad.

“There was a name missing there,” Tessa says gently. Kit feels more tears run down his cheeks, and he moves to wipe them away, but Tessa gets there first. Jem pulls the box of tissues from the nearby table closer, tucks it in between the sofa cushion and Kit’s thigh. 

“I don't think I’m allowed to miss Ty,” Kit says, his voice very quiet and a bit sullen. “I think I messed that up so much that it’s not right to miss him. I’m surprised the rest of them haven’t sent some kind of magical missile after me.”

“Kit.” 

Kit sighs, finally abandoning the comic. “I miss him, though. I miss him the most.”

“Why didn't you think you were allowed?” Tessa combs a hand hesitantly through his hair, a little tangled from where he’s had his hood up. Kit can’t help but lean into it, a small sound escaping him even as he tries to push it back. He’s always been eager to please, eager to help, and happiest when he’s making other people happy, and he’s found that the best way to accomplish all of that is to focus on other people, and not himself. 

His sarcastic, self-deprecating facade, the one that makes people laugh and distracts from whatever he’s feeling isn’t nearly as successful as he’d like it to be though, so it’s not surprising that Jem and Tessa see through it most of the time. 

Not that he’s trying very hard at the moment, considering he’s crying all over the cushions. 

“Kit?” Tessa asks again. 

Kit tries to explain, but he ends up shrugging. 

“You didn't say goodbye,” Jem says suddenly, his face crinkled with understanding. “When we don't say goodbye, we worry that we don't have the right to say hello again.”

Kit shrinks even further. Tessa hums a soothing sound, her hand stroking through his hair. She’s had kids before, Kit knows, but it’s never been more obvious than it is now. 

They don't add anything to the revelation. Kit half-expects a speech, a reassurance, sympathy, or a reprimand, maybe. For being dramatic, for crying over something stupid, for doing the stupid thing in the first place. 

But he should know better by now: they might be strange and grossly in love, and unfamiliar at times, but they’re kind and patient too. 

“There are blank postcards in the kitchen drawer,” Tessa says eventually, after the silence has grown comfortable and Kit’s stopped sniffing into his sleeve. His heart trips a little at Tessa’s implication. 

“I have a very full address book, and we happen to know a glittery, nosy Warlock who knows everybody,” Jem adds helpfully. He does a little wiggle with his fingers and makes a face that’s probably supposed to be magical, but ends up looking worrying enough that Tessa giggles at Kit’s alarm. 

“You’re going to be an embarrassing dad,” Kit says thickly, wiping his eyes one last time and sparing a prayer for the future baby. It’s a weird thought, that there might be four sets of boots by the door one day, each pair smaller than the last. 

Tessa laughs softly, pulling him into a hug. “Pretty sure he already is, dear.”

Kit’s cheeks burn red. Tessa presses a kiss to his hair, and Jem meets his eye. He looks pretty pleased at both accusations, and he keeps his gaze soft for a moment, making sure Kit gets the meaning, the message, the truth behind Tessa’s statement, before he winks and spares him any further embarrassment. 

Jem’s eyes sparkle. “She’s right, you know. I practically raised Church. And I definitely raised William Herondale, the original bastard. After that, any baby or angst-ridden teenager is going to be a piece of cake.”

Kit’s comic gets a little crushed in the following scuffle, but he doesn’t mind: he thinks of blank postcards, letters gone unwritten in his mind, and a family of boots by the door, and he reminds himself that there’s always a way to iron out the creases in something important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate every word and click. You're all gems! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is a whole baby,” Kit says quietly, carefully supporting the baby’s head. His arms feel awkward, too clunky and large, but Tessa told him how to do it properly, and Jem reassured him the whole time. He blinks down at tightly closed eyes.
> 
> “You’re a whole human baby. This is weird as _hell.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Carstairs is here! I saw the name I used for her mentioned a few times on tumblr by various people, and I loved the idea. Have some indulgent fluff, and thanks for the lovely response to the last chapter. I'm thinking two more chapters, but I'll leave it as completed since it works on it's own, and I'm not too sure yet!

Kit kind of imagined that the whole birth thing was going to involve a lot of sitting around, waiting and worrying. He was prepared for it. There’s been weeks of book-consulting, of punctual appointments, careful test runs to the hospital, and thorough bag-packing. He’s felt a bit like they’re practicing for putting on a big show, and now they’re here at opening night, and he’s not ready. 

He expected all of this, but somehow it’s all still shocking, somehow he still feels shaken and taken by surprise. The waiting and worrying was a given, but for some reason Kit really didn't imagine he’d be doing it alone. 

The door that Jem and Tessa disappeared through is still closed. He’d sat with them in the first room with other expectant parents for a bit. There were starchy bedsheets and thin curtains that scraped closed, obscuring anxious fathers and exasperated woman and equally exasperated single mothers who were tending to their overbearing mothers. He and Tessa had made fun of Jem when he looked ill at the thought of stirrups and speculums, even though he thinks Jem might have been putting it on to make Kit more comfortable, since Kit doesn’t really like the thought of any of it either. 

But his comics have been passed over lately in favour of medical books and baby name books and parenting books and everything under the sun to do with babies and their business, so he’s a little more well-versed than he would have been nine months ago. 

Tessa had teased the both of them when the nurses came round, holding onto her cup of raspberry-flavoured ice and wincing when the pains started. And now they’re both in the little hospital room with a woman called Catarina who had looked Kit up and down before confining him, kindly but firmly, to a chair in the waiting room. 

It’s the _worst._ It’s a bit boring and the chairs are stiff and uncomfortable, and most of all it’s just a place and time full of worry. Kit’s not sure if he’s been in a Mundane hospital room before. If he has, he doesn’t remember it. He’s woken up in the Infirmary, and waited in the Infirmary for other people to wake up, but this is different. This place has an air of tension and unsurety to it, and Kit can’t say he’s enjoying any of it. 

“Kit?” 

Alec and Magnus stride round the corner in a flurry of expensive jackets and blue children. Kit blows out a relieved breath and manages to stand even though his knees feel shaky and strange. Alec puts one hand on his shoulder and eases him back into the seat the minute he’s close enough.

“Don't get up on our account, dumpling,” Magnus says, waving a hand as his clever eyes dance around the room. If people think they’re out of place here, they don't make their confusion obvious. “Is everything alright?”

“They’re in room forty-three,” Kit explains, pointing vaguely in the right direction as one of the kids pokes him in the leg. Max, he thinks. “Tessa said her water broke? It was wet, and I’m glad I was wearing boots, that’s all I know. And then Jem was running around throwing stuff everywhere because even though he’s supposed to be all composed and not panic, he was obviously panicking.”

Kit thinks _he_ might be panicking. He takes a big gulp of air when Alec pats him on the back. Kit squints at him suspiciously: Alec’s eyebrows are all amused. 

“We came here,” Kit continues. “It’s been about an hour? I think everything’s fine. I just haven’t heard anything in ages.”

Magnus and Alec share a look, and then Magnus sends a little flurry of sparks towards him. Kit jumps when a sports drink and a chocolate chip muffin appears in his lap. 

“Don't worry,” Alec says, sitting down beside him and talking lowly as Magnus bustles off and Raf starts complaining about being bored. Alec scoops Max up and puts him on his knee. “Magnus’ll sort it all out. Childbirth takes a while, so you might want to get comfortable. Or I can take you back, if you want?”

Kit shakes his head and that’s the end of that. He’s not leaving until he’s seen that everyone’s okay. Alec doesn’t say that it’s going to be fine, which Kit appreciates, even if a bit of comfort might have been welcome. 

Kit ends up giving Max half the muffin in small broken-off chunks, and he plays a game with Raf on his handheld console for a bit, but mostly he sits and taps his feet, muttering under his breath. 

Alec is a quiet, steady presence beside him, but Kit can’t help but wish that Ty was here too.

***

“That’s a whole baby,” Kit says quietly, carefully supporting the baby’s head. His arms feel awkward, too clunky and large, but Catarina told him how to do it properly, and Jem reassured him the whole time that he wasn’t going to drop it. He blinks down at tightly closed eyes. 

“You’re a whole human baby. This is weird as _hell.”_

“Language,” Jem mutters, from where he’s curled around Tessa, mostly asleep but still alert to Kit’s swearing. They both have their eyes closed, both turned into each other. One of Tessa’s hands lies spread across the bed, searching for the tiny baby in Kit’s arms. She looks tired and pale, but healthy enough considering she just gave birth.

“That was tame for me,” Kit tells the baby, ignoring Jem. “I’ll teach you better ones later, when old bat-ears isn’t listening.”

He’s getting better at calling Jem all sorts of names without being afraid he’s going to be chucked out, or told he’s getting too comfortable. Jem actually seems pleased about it sometimes.

He leans back against the cushioned chair, listening to the click and beep of several machines. There were no serious complications, especially not with Catarina present - who apparently portaled over especially for this - but it still took hours before Kit was allowed in the room, and now he’s here with two exhausted adults on the bed and the complete opposite of an adult curled up in his arms. 

Cordelia Carstairs. 

“I’m not gonna be able to call you Cordelia without laughing,” Kit muses out loud. “I mean, you’re already a wrinkle. I’m sure it was a nice name, y’know, back in the olden times, but now only grans and ponies have that name.” He glances up at Tessa and then bends his head to stage-whisper, “I’m pretty sure it was important to them though, or they wouldn’t have chosen it, right? So we’ll let you keep it.”

Cordelia Carstairs doesn’t have much to say. She’s very pink, enough that she looks a bit purple in places, and she’s wrinkly and small. She’s heavier than Kit expected. Like when he steadfastly refused to pay money for a carrier bag and just juggled several bags of flour and sugar for Tessa’s baking the other week. He’d been sure he could make it, but his arms had almost fallen off by the time he got home. 

Cordelia’s already cried so loudly that Alec actually took his own kids home, eager to get away from the sound - and the presumably horrible, traumatic memories of when they were small that emerged. Kit’s going to have to get some earplugs, that’s for sure. 

“You’re so small,” Kit tells her, a bit quieter than before. He can hear Tessa’s steady breathing, and if he looks up, he can see Jem’s hand tucked into hers, small and solid. 

“You’re going to be the most loved baby in the world,” Kit adds, shifting very, very carefully to get more comfortable. He still feels far too big and clumsy in the face of something so small and important. Cordelia’s face scrunches up, but she doesn’t wake up, and she doesn’t start screaming or squirming, so he considers the miniscule movement a win. 

He tucks the blanket around her gently; the soft yellow fuzz reminds Kit of a duck. 

“I’ll be nice to you, since I’m kind of like family now, I guess,” Kit murmurs, glancing hesitantly up at the quiet, unprotesting bed. “I’m not sharing cookies with you though. Not even when you have teeth. Jesus, that’s weird, you don't even have _teeth._ And you’re bald. I wonder if you’ll have a bit of silver, like your dad. Would you say dad? Father? Papa? Pfft.”

Kit tries not to shake when he laughs at the thought of referring to Jem as Papa. He discards the laughter, keeping his grin as he shifts Cordelia so she’s closer, a bit more comfortable, and makes his voice as quiet as possible. 

“I’ll tell stories and stuff. And I’ll let someone else train you if you want to be a Shadowhunter. That’s literally the nicest thing I could ever offer you, seeing as I’m sh -- bad at training. If I’m still around when you’re older, I’ll teach you how to kick your Papa’s ass on Mario Kart.”

There’s no protest from the bed, which means Jem’s soundly asleep. Kit grins, fumbling one hand around to gently stroke the baby’s soft, scrubbed cheek. 

“This is going to be awkward and awesome,” Kit whispers. 

*

The days always feel longer in Devon. They stretch out, maybe because the world outside the window, bracken-filled and hawthorn-shaded, moves by so slowly. But it means there’s more time to spend outside, introducing Lia to cows and bushes and trees. 

“You know she can’t see much further than here, don't you?” Tessa moves her arms over the stroller to demonstrate. Lia’s inside, wrapped up like a bug in a rug, hat pulled firmly down over her ears. 

“It’s a sensational experience,” Kit says, kicking a bit of broken shrubbery aside. “She doesn’t need to see to know the glory of nature.”

Tessa makes a dubious sound. She’s smiling though, and she hasn’t suggested they go inside yet, so Kit guesses she doesn’t mind too much. The stroller moves easily over the rough ground, helped along by a few spells - a gift from Magnus, along with a truckload of clothes and bits and pieces. Kit sometimes forgets that even though he considers adults old, despite how young they might look, some of them are even older than usual. Magnus and Tessa knew each other before Kit was even a thought in the universe’s ever-shifting mind: it’s bizarre and mesmerising to listen to Tessa’s stories. 

“Just one more stop,” Kit decides, because Lia’s still quite young and it’s kind of cold, and he’d be a pretty bad brother if he let her turn into a Cordeliasicle so early on. “An important stop, though.”

They make it to Heather’s field in good time. There are still daisies in the hedgerow, uneaten and unpicked. Kit urges Tessa right up to the gate to peer through the crooked wooden slats. They park the stroller carefully on a flatter bit of grass. Lia doesn’t make a sound beyond soft puffs of breath.

“A friend of yours?” Tessa tucks her damp hair behind her ear and fixes her bright eyes on Heather. In her blue raincoat and long black wellingtons, she looks pretty and dewy, her baby bump still shrinking under her layers. Heather, oblivious to the audience, stands stock-still in the muddy grass and chews cud at a leisurely pace.

Kit feels suddenly stupid, having a cow for a friend, and bringing Lia to see her. Bringing _Tessa_ to see her. He scratches at the side of his nose and then puts his hands in the pocket of his raincoat, averting his eyes.

“Uh, yeah. I guess. I mean, it’s just a cow.”

He mouths a panicked ‘sorry’ at Heather when Tessa bends to inspect Lia through the raincover. 

“I once had a friend in a clockwork angel,” Tessa says, still not looking at him. “And I think Jem married Church in secret, when nobody was around.” She stands, a small teasing smile in place. “Don't be ashamed of your friends, Kit, or they might not share their sweets with you next time you meet.”

Kit rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his cheeks heat up. “I’ll be sure to be extra polite, don't worry.”

“Mmm.” Tessa’s eyes twinkle. “It’s a shame Lia couldn’t meet her.”

“What?”

“She’s asleep,” Tessa says, grinning. 

Kit gapes, and then trudges round the side of the stroller to peer in through the raincover. Lia’s sleeping face is partially obscured, but Kit can still see her peaceful expression. 

His face must say something very expressive, because Tessa throws her head back and laughs, startling a bird in the hedgerow further along. It takes flight and Kit rises with it, a grudging smile in place. 

“Kids.” Kit sighs, tutting. “No appreciation for the finer things in life.”

Tessa keeps laughing, and then moves to stand beside him, tucking her arm through his elbow. They both watch Heather. 

“I thought it might be nice to go outside for a bit,” Kit offers. “You’ve both been tired, and she’s pretty loud.”

“She’s a night owl,” Tessa says, voice dry. “I’d never complain, though, no matter what she turns out to be like.”

Kit can’t imagine that. He thinks Johnny wanted him to be very small and silent and out of the way. He thinks he was supposed to be exactly like Johnny, if possible, which it wasn’t. Kit might know how to pick locks and pockets, but he never learned the art of casual, cold indifference. 

It’s weird, to come across people who just want happiness and good health for their kids. It’s weird to think that for some, pride doesn’t come with strings attached. 

“You know, for a while, I didn't think I could ever have children,” Tessa says after a moment of watching Heather thoughtfully. “Warlocks supposedly can’t have kids of their own.”

Kit had read that, in the Codex he keeps in his bedside drawer. He’d thought maybe it was a mistake, or just an untested theory, since things have undoubtedly changed and evolved since it was written, and he’d known about Tessa’s previous children. 

“How come you could have children?”

Tessa looks at him askance, and then winks. “I’m special.”

Kit snorts, taken aback. “You really are. You and Jem make a good pair.”

“We make a great pair,” Tessa corrects him gently. “And the four of us make an even greater family.”

Kit feels something swell inside him. It’s like noise and light all at once. It’s the summer feeling you get when you wake, drowsy, from a long afternoon nap and find your ankles tangled in the covers while crickets chirp outside in the dusty heat. It’s a boardwalk under his feet, sun-warmed wood creaking under careful steps, and it’s vanilla on his tongue and it’s a rooftop that he can’t go back to yet. Pancakes and waffles and messy breakfasts. 

Kit swallows. He feels a bit lost in his own skin. Tessa tugs him closer with their linked arms. 

“You never introduced me to your friend,” Tessa says, her voice softening. Heather shifts her stance. 

“Heather,” Kit says, his throat dry and his words clumsy. “She’s called Heather.”

“It’s a nice name. We’ll have to bring Lia back, when she’s old enough to stay awake to appreciate the finer things in life.”

Kit grins slowly. “I’d like that.”

Pancakes and waffles and messy breakfasts: the feeling persists, lingers, doesn’t leave him. 

They stand still, in the noise of nature, until Lia wakes and the warmth of a dry home calls them back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please let me know what you thought! A lot of love to you all!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was there for most of the firsts. He thinks he can call himself a brother, and he thinks he fits in this family, sort of. He _feels_ like he fits in this family, but saying it out loud is another thing entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!

Kit takes the banister down to breakfast. His jeans, now three sizes bigger than they had been a few years ago, slide smoothly down the polished dark oak. When he reaches the bottom, he lets his socks take over, humming a tune he’d stolen from Tessa, who sung often in the shower and denied it later, after they’d all been treated to an hour-long symphony that rang through the walls.

He skids to a stop in the kitchen doorway and bypasses Jem’s early morning hair ruffle on his way to the cereal. There’s a postcard on the table, face-side up, and Kit can see a plain black background with a wavering flock of stars dotted over the inky night. He ignores it for now: if history is anything to go by, then it’s from Emma or maybe Dru, and he can afford to wait.

“Really?” Jem puts a hand on his chest, the movements of his wrist elegant and dramatic. “You’re really going to do this to me?”

“Morning, Tessa,” Kit says pointedly, pulling bowls out of the cupboard. Then he makes a show of frowning around the kitchen. “Oh wait, Tessa’s upstairs. Guess it’s just me, all alone in the kitchen for breakfast. How sad.”

Jem laughs, steering his coffee through the obstacle course of condiments and empty plates from last night, rather than picking it up off the table and risk spilling it. 

“You’re a sore loser, Kit.”

“On second thoughts, it’s not sad at all,” Kit says, shaking Weetos (British cereal is strangely named but delicious) into a bowl. “I’d rather eat cereal alone than with a _cheater.”_

“I didn't cheat,” Jem objects, just as Tessa appears in the doorway, looking harassed. “You’re just incredibly bad at Monopoly.” 

“Oh, you’re not still going on about that are you?” Tessa brushes a bit of her hair aside, rolling her eyes and cutting off Kit’s indignant, outraged exclamation. “I’m the only one who won honourably anyway, and you both know it.”

Jem raises an eyebrow at Kit, and he shrugs back; it’s true, and even if it weren’t, Tessa isn’t someone Kit wants to go up against literally ever. 

“Everything okay, Tessa?” Jem asks. With them, they use their own names more than they do pet names. Kit kind of likes it. Jem says ‘Tessa’ like it’s the most precious word in existence, like no other sweet term could compare. 

“Lia’s just pulled all the wet-wipes out of the packet and I’m going to be late if I don't leave in the next ten minutes. And there’s dishes all over the table. Is that food from the night before last?”

Kit coughs, eyeing the lasagne dish he’d left to ‘soak’ on the side. Jem snorts when he slides it into the sink, the scrape of ceramic against the marble surface very loud and obvious. 

Tessa sighs, shaking her head. “That doesn’t solve the rest of it.”

“Battle stations, then?” Kit scoops out a handful of Weetos and shovels them in his mouth dry. Tessa looks on, fondly disgusted. Jem looks on, proud and unsurprised. 

“Don't forget Lia’s socks this time,” Tessa tells them, nodding an affirmative. She brushes a kiss over Jem’s forehead as she bustles towards the kettle. Kit’s never going to get over how _tiny_ she is. She used to be tall and willowy from Kit’s point of view, and she still is, but he’s undoubtedly shot up over the last few years, and now he’s about a head taller than her. 

It’s a miracle that he grew at all, he thinks sometimes. He even has the beginning of abs now. 

“See you on the field, Kit,” Jem says, winking at Kit as he gets to his feet, downing the last of his coffee. 

“Don't wink.” Kit grimaces. “You look weird. Old people aren’t supposed to wink.”

Tessa stifles her laugh in the sugar pot as she digs around with a spoon. Jem’s mutterings about the ‘youth of today’ carries down the hallway as he makes his way into the living room, where Lia’s probably causing mayhem. She causes a lot of mayhem, for something so small, and she runs faster than should be legal. Kit still remembers when she emptied an entire bottle of baby lotion all over the living room rug. Even with magic, the stain is still visible. 

“What’s the odds that he comes back in a minute, crying?” Kit muses, leaning against the counter as he swallows more cereal. 

“Not worth betting on,” Tessa says crisply, trying not to grin. She throws him a warning look. “Don't tell him that, or he really will cry. He still worries that he’s doing badly, and it’s been years now.”

“That’s stupid,” Kit says immediately. “He’s a great dad!”

He coughs and turns his head away when Tessa looks at him knowingly. 

“To Lia,” he adds hastily. 

_“Just_ Lia?”

Kit flicks a stray Weeto at her, before putting on his best threatening voice, which is crap, admittedly. “I’ll pick you up and swing you around.”

“Not after last time.” She flicks the Weeto back, pulling an exasperated face. “We have milk, you know.”

Kit widens his eyes as he walks backwards out of the kitchen. _“Do_ we? Well, I never! Living the life of luxury, we are. Who’d have thought, us, having _milk?_ It’s a miracle.”

“It’s not a miracle until you stop talking,” Tessa says drily. 

Kit snickers as he leaves the room, sliding along the wooden floor in his socks until he reaches the living room. Jem’s in the playpen, a rickety conglomeration of colourful plastic fences and soft netting, seeing to Lia’s mess. 

“Got all the evil out of her yet?” Kit asks, gesturing at the diaper near the changing mat. 

Lia blows a raspberry at him. It’s her favourite thing to do now, and Kit’s not going to say he taught her, but he also won’t deny it if accused. “I’m not evil, I’m a _Lia.”_

“A wriggly Lia,” Jem says, rolling his eyes. “Grab that for me, will you, Kit?”

Lia rolls on her side just as Jem tries to do up the button on her soft baby leggings. That’s what Kit calls them anyway: he has no idea what all the little pieces of fabric are called, and what they do, and what goes with what. He’s dressed Lia a thousand times, but only with lingering instructions in the back of his head. Someone else always picks out the outfit, otherwise Lia ends up ‘clashing,’ although Kit just considers the vivid combinations to be art in progress. 

Lia never minds his choices. She avidly encourages the combination of tutus, wellington boots, and camouflage beanies. 

Lia rolls again, and Kit bends sideways at the waist, tipping his head so he can pull a funny face at her. She grins at him, her front two teeth sticking out every so slightly. 

“Hey, bug. Whatcha doing?”

“E’splorin,” Lia says, matter-of-factly. She kicks one foot, and then the other, her hair all over the place. 

“Making life difficult,” Jem says, wrangling her back around. His expression softens when she grins and squeals up at him. Kit hides a grin, reaching down for a pair of balled-up socks. Lia scrambles upright and puts her feet on Jem’s thigh, hauling herself up with the help of one of Jem’s ears. 

Kit chucks the socks at Jem. “Don't forget these, remember.”

The socks bounce off Jem’s deadpan expression. 

“You’re absolutely no help, either of you,” Jem says, but he smiles as he holds onto Lia. 

*

Lia leads the way as they march over the hills. Her boots are a sensible yellow, so that Kit can spot her if she rolls off into the undergrowth, and her raincoat is a clear plastic, with cartoon ladybugs all over it. Kit’s carrying her hat, and his hands are frozen stiff with cold, but he doesn’t dare drop it. Last time he dropped her gloves, the special fuzzy ones that Catarina bought her, she screamed blue murder and spent the evening in front of the washing machine, watching them go round and round. 

Kit sat with her until they were clean, and Tessa tripped over their 500 piece puzzle more than once as they bickered gently on the kitchen floor. 

“Decided whether we’re lost or not yet?” Kit asks. Lia’s only a few steps in front of him, her little legs stomping on every leaf she can find as she toddles about, but she puts one hand around her ear like she’s struggling to hear him. 

“What did you say to me?” she yells. Kit jogs a few steps and reaches down to poke her in the side, catching her on the other side when she stumbles slightly. 

“Are we lost?” he repeats. “Have you brought me out here to lose me on purpose?” 

“It’s over here, see,” Lia says, reaching out to grip his hand with hers. He has to stoop, but not as much as he’d like: he might have shot up in height, but everyone that isn’t Tessa and Lia seems to still be taller than him, somehow. “Could you just be _quick,_ Kit?”

“Rude,” Kit mutters. “I’m faster than you, but your hat’s weighing me down.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out to glance at the text there while Lia pulls him over slippery grass to look at a hedgerow. 

_You’ve been gone a while. I’m not hovering, I just want to know if everything’s okay? Has Lia got her coat on?_

Kit snorts. _No, I decided to wear it instead. Looks great on me. Really accentuates my figure. I left her to shiver in the rain and cold, hope you don't mind._

He gets a cross emoji in return, which proves that it’s Jem on Tessa’s phone. He’s recently figured out how to use emoji’s, and spends most of his time torturing Kit with them. 

_Everything’s fine. She’s got a coat, boots, and a vest on. She won’t wear her hat, so I’m the official hat-carrier._

He gets a heart emoji in return, and shakes his head, grinning as he pockets his phone. Lia’s let go of his hand and has her head mostly inside a hedgerow. 

“In here,” Lia says, poking at some leaves. 

“Careful,” Kit says. “I think there’s nettles and thorns.”

Lia doesn’t even look at him. She keeps poking around, her tongue sticking out of her tiny mouth as she concentrates. 

“What are we looking for?” Kit asks, stepping closer and crouching down to peer into the gloomy leaves. 

“Fairies,” Lia says seriously. “Heather told me they was here.”

Kit sucks in a breath. He wraps one arm around Lia’s waist and hoists her up, standing in one smooth motion. She squeals and shouts, kicking him in the stomach and leaving behind a muddy footprint. 

“Kit!” Lia shouts, slapping him in the chest. “Kit, put me down! I want to get down!”

“Okay, stop a second,” he says, dodging another slap to his collarbone. “Serious question for you, okay?”

Lia stops and looks at him suspiciously. 

“What kind of fairies?”

“I don't know.” Lia rolls her eyes. “That’s why we’re here. Heather said they was living in the leaves and had gold eyes.”

Kit eyes the hedgerow, pin-pricked with berries and dewdrops. It looks like the setting for every children’s story featuring a talking mouse ever written. But now there’s something sinister about it, about the dark clumps of thick brambles, about the scattered trees behind it in the patch of brown field. 

“The cow said this?” Kit asks, dubious. He came to Cornwall with Ty because fae were prominent in stories there, because the lands are rich with folktales and truth. Devon is just one County over, with its own stories, but the fae walk these lands too. Kit hasn’t really seen any, but they know how to hide. They wouldn’t think to hide from cows. 

And then he double-takes, and stares at Lia’s bright, fierce eyes in disbelief. 

“Wait, how did the _cow_ say this?”

Lia puts both her hands on either of his cheeks, squishing his face as she babbles seriously about how Heather is nice and a bit smelly but she doesn’t think that matters, and how her farmer is quite nice too although Lia’s never met him, and how the dog that lives in the farmhouse always shouts rude words at her but she doesn’t say them back unless Kit’s on his phone, and even then it’s only quietly so it’s fine. 

Kit watches her talk, baffled. He edges away from the hedgerow as she speaks and pulls out his phone to type with one hand. 

_Emergency meeting at Heather’s field. Nobody hurt, don't panic, just Lia has something to show us._

“Piggyback ride?” Kit says, when Lia stops to draw breath. 

He doesn’t wait for her reply before he scoops her over onto his back and takes off, running _carefully_ towards the possibly-talking cow. 

Heather is a very silent cow, as per usual. Kit props Lia up on the moss-covered wall to wait, but it doesn’t take long for Tessa and Jem to sprint up the hill. They get through two games of eye-spy before Jem is there, sweeping Lia off the wall and Tessa is crowding around them both, tilting Kit’s chin up to look in his eyes and taking Lia’s pulse with her other hand. 

“I told you nobody was hurt,” Kit protests, but he doesn’t move away from Tessa’s hand. 

“Just for future reference, don't start your texts off with ‘emergency’ if you want us to pay attention to the rest of the message,” Jem says drily, holding Lia very tightly. She sighs, throwing her body back so he has to move with her to avoid dropping her on the wet floor. 

“What’s this?” Tessa says, tugging on his muddy jumper. “What’s going on?”

“Lia can talk to cows,” Kit says flatly. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Heather lows from the field, and Lia giggles. 

*

“It makes sense,” Tessa says cautiously. Lia’s bedroom is one of the largest in the house, and it’s full of toys, books, glitter and model aeroplanes that she and Jem do in the evenings sometimes. She’s surprisingly good at them, for a three-year-old, and Jem is patient even when paint splatters his shirt-sleeves. 

“You’ve always had a special gift,” Jem says, smiling gently up at Tessa from the floor, on the round rug. “It makes sense that you passed down something similar. And it isn’t the first time, either, is it?”

Kit doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be listening. It’s at times like this, when Lia’s sitting in bed, her brow crinkled as she selects her story for the evening, with her parents tucking her in, that Kit wonders if he’s over-stepping. 

He feels like he has a right to the title of brother. He hasn’t done anything spectacular or big, but he’s played games and wiped up food and gone for adventures in the fields with Lia more times than he can count. He’s given her a bubble beard and helped her put on wellington boots, he’s rocked her to sleep when Tessa and Jem are half-asleep and need a break, and he’s endured many an ear-splitting tantrum. They’ve explored every inch of the world outside that’s reachable, they’ve done puzzles and coloured in pictures and hidden broken plates guiltily. 

He was there for most of the firsts. He thinks he can call himself a brother, and he thinks he fits in this family, sort of. He _feels_ like he fits in this family, but saying it out loud is another thing entirely. 

And stepping into the room when cosy nights like this simmer gently before him is almost impossible. 

“No,” Tessa agrees, pulling her feet up underneath her as she reaches for the blanket to tuck around Lia. “It’s not the first time. I don't know if I hoped, though…”

“She would have been able to talk to animals even if she was a Mundane,” Kit says, quiet, from the doorway. He grins brightly at their confused faces. “Come on, she’s Lia. No cow is safe from her if she wants to have a conversation.”

Lia slaps her hand down on her chosen book and shoves the others on the floor. They topple there with thuds like apples falling from a tree, to exclamations and soft tellings-off. 

“I think you may have a point,” Jem says, patting the rug beside him. “Do you want to read tonight?”

“I can’t do the voices as well as you two can,” Kit says. He hesitates until Lia yanks a stuffed duck towards her and clamps one hand around the beak, narrowing her eyes at Kit menacingly. 

“Alright,” Kit says. “I’m sitting, don't hurt any birds because of me. I’m not reading, though.”

“Fine, I guess so,” Lia says, grumbling. “Mumma can do it.”

Tessa takes the book with a smile that isn’t as pained as Kit’s when he sees the book title. He liked the Gruffalo the first time around, but by this point the words are burned into his brain. 

Lia’s dark hair puffs up like a cloud as she wriggles down against the pillow. She grins, clearly waiting for her story, for the attention to be on her. 

“Are we going to talk about what the cow said?” Jem murmurs quietly, while Tessa opens the first page. 

Kit goes crimson. He swallows and shakes his head slowly. 

_”How do we know she can hear them and talk to them?” Jem asks, handing Lia to Tessa when it’s clear she’d rather be in her mother’s arms for a bit._

_“I don't know if there’s a way to test it.” Tessa bites her lip, smoothing back Lia’s hair._

_Kit sort of can’t believe that they’re taking his word for it. Maybe it’s the way he looks, or the confusion in his face, the worry there. Maybe it’s the strangeness of their lives and the world they live in._

_“She said something about fairies,” Kit says. “Heather apparently told Lia where to look for fairies.”_

_Tessa and Jem share a worried look._

_“It could still be a childish imagination at work,” Tessa says. She doesn’t sound too sure of herself. Kit shrugs. He doesn’t know: he just knows he felt nervous and unsure, and it seems possible._

_“Heather says that Kit loves a him and can’t stop,” Lia says, tipping her head back to squint at Kit. “Who’s a him?”_

Kit hadn’t outright said that Lia was telling the truth, that she’d repeated something she couldn’t possibly have known unless she was listening way before when she was born. Which Kit wouldn’t put past her, but still. The way he’d gone pale and sputtered, not letting any real words pass his lips, had been confirmation enough for Tessa and Jem. 

“I think I’d rather not talk about it, thanks,” Kit mutters, staring purposefully at the rug. 

“I imagine I can guess,” Jem says, voice hushed. His words send a rush of fear through Kit, even though he knows it’s obvious, and he has no reason to be afraid of Jem or Tessa. “I just want you to know that it’s okay. And that we’re here if you do want to walk.”

Jem has a gift of never really looking awkward even when he might be feeling it. It’s quite annoying, since Kit looks awkward and lost regardless of how he’s feeling.

“Thanks,” Kit says back, and Lia shushes them impatiently. 

“We’re trying to listen!” Lia huffs, leaning back against the pillow. Kit picks up one of the fallen stuffed toys and throws it at her; she squeals and laughs when it bounces off her shoulder, and picks it up to add to her collection. 

“Are we ready?” Tessa asks, eyebrows raised. 

They nod dutifully, all three of them, settling in, even though Kit would rather set his brain on fire than listen to the tale of snakes and owls and mice for the millionth time. 

Tessa opens her mouth and speaks gently over the sound of soft rain pattering against the windows. “A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood...”

*

Kit’s kind of sick, thanks to Jem and his disgusting germs. He’s pretending otherwise, though, because if he’s sick then that means he’ll have to eat banana flavoured medicine, which is, in Kit’s humble opinion, the most disgusting thing to ever grace the earth. It doesn’t taste like real banana, and it’s more likely to make people sick than make them better. 

He staggers into the library after stopping by the kitchen and grins at the large, blurry book he and Lia had been reading yesterday. It’s propped up in front of her face, her little feet sticking out from under a blanket in the armchair. 

“Hey, ducky.”

The book goes down, and Jace’s disgusted expression appears. _“Ducky?”_

Kit does a double-take, dropping his apple and watching in dismay as it rolls across the floor. He snaps his gaze back to Jace, staring in confusion at the bizarrely tiny body squished into the armchair. It has Jace’s head, somehow. His murky thoughts churn around for a bit until one swims to the forefront. 

“Where are your legs?” Kit blurts out. 

Jace raises an eyebrow, still with the same disgustingly offended expression, and shifts until his legs slither out from under the blanket, his feet hitting the floor. The blanket slides off his shoulders too, revealing a pretty normal-sized body, one that hasn’t stolen Jace’s head. 

“Oh,” Kit says. He squints, and then shrugs, to which Jace looks even more offended. 

“Seriously, ‘ducky?’ I haven’t seen you in ages, and the first thing you do is mistake me for my own mortal enemy? What did I do, Christopher?”

Kit snorts. “I know it’s hard for you to comprehend, but sometimes people aren’t actually talking to you.”

“Well, obviously.” Jace waves a hand, lounging back against the armchair. “Sometimes people are suffering from a confusion spell, or a concussion. _Ducky?”_

Kit rolls his eyes, chasing the apple and plopping it in the wastepaper bin. The room spins as he walks, and his stomach rolls. He walks a bit slower until he reaches the couch.

“I thought you were Lia,” Kit mutters, flopping down on the cushions and closing his eyes, head tipped back to face the ceiling. “Easy mistake to make.”

“You honestly thought I was a toddler?” Jace sounds like he’s caught between scandalised and amused. “I know I’ve lost a bit of weight, but maybe I should go back to loading up on carbs.”

“You just have very dainty feet,” Kit mumbles, eyes still closed. He hears Jace’s outraged noise and asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Splendid to see you too, old bean.” Jace’s voice is drier than Tessa’s burned toast. The chair squeaks as Jace presumably stands and marches towards Kit, who doesn’t bother to move. “What’s wrong with you?”

Kit prises open one eye and squints up at Jace. “You’re just a smudge.”

Jace’s face looms closer, all bright intensity, and Kit groans, closing his eye again. 

“A painful smudge.”

Jace hums, tapping the arm of the chair. “You’re really on a roll with the insults today, aren’t you? First I’m a cannibalistic, war-hungry, blood-thirsty aquatic bird, and now I’m a painful smudge. It’s a wonder why I didn't visit sooner.”

Kit grunts, struggling to sit up. Jace doesn’t make him lie down, not like Clary or Jem would have. He just watches patiently until Kit is mostly upright, and then cocks an eyebrow, clearly willing to wait for an explanation. 

“I don't feel well,” Kit explains, rubbing at the painful spot around his left eye. “I threw up earlier too, and everything’s fuzzy. I reckon I’ve got Jem’s disease.”

“Puts a damper on our afternoon of countryside sightseeing,” Jace says, his eyes glinting. “What a shame. I did send a postcard, you know, since I heard that’s how you communicate now, like a proper angsty youth.”

Kit swears at him and flops back on the couch, curling into a pathetic ball. 

“I’ll get one of your doting parents,” Jace says, standing with a squeak of his leather jacket. “I’m sure they’ll have something to make you stop looking so sweaty and disgusting. Not sure they can do much for the disease, though. We might just have to wait on that front.”

Kit wrangles one arm free from under him and grabs a pillow, waving it about in a threatening manner. Jace laughs, stroking back the sticky hair from his forehead with only the smallest hesitation. His hands are cool, and Kit drops the pillow, leaning into the touch.

“I didn't get your postcard. Lia probably coloured it in or fed it to a sheep or something. You didn't say what you were doing here,” Kit mumbles, before Jace can leave. 

“Delivering stolen goods.”

There’s a wicked undertone to Jace’s innocently-said statement. Kit’s about to ask what he means when there’s a shuffle and a noise from the library doorway. Jace’s hand vanishes, and Kit struggles to open his eyes, sitting up with a hazy sigh. 

He catches Jace’s eye. Jace is quite obviously trying not to grin. 

“Bad time to get sick, Christopher. You really should’ve kept a closer eye on the mail. I’ll be right back.”

Jace strides towards the library door, sidling past the figure standing there. It only takes a moment for Kit to spot him, and less than that for him to know him. Kit sucks in a breath, trying not to cough in the sudden silence. He feels untethered, and yet more grounded than he has in years.

“Hello, Kit.”

Ty steps further into the room, folding back the cuff of one crisp shirtsleeve and flicking his eyes over the thousands of books lining the walls, keenly interested. “You don't look very well.”

His voice is lovely, sweet and deep. Kit drinks in the sound. 

“Really?” Kit laughs, a little desperately. He can’t take his eyes off Ty, which proves to be a good thing when Ty catches his eyes, just for a brief, astounding moment that sets him alight with fear and wonder. “Because I feel _great.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ty is here! There is a tiny hint of plot! Lia has warlocky powers! All the little bits should be cleared up in the next two chapters, I think. I'm still not sure but I have a clear idea of the end now. Thank you so, so much for the overwhelmingly lovely, positive response to this fic. You're all so kind, and have so many sweet words to share with me! I really appreciate it! <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kit sucks in a breath. A blade meets the base of his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, it's been a while! Just for the record (while I appreciate all the lovely words you have more than you know) when I get comments asking me to update, or why it's taking so long (I know you're enthusiastic and that's so wonderful) but it makes me incredibly anxious! I do love comments, and I know it takes me a while, but just something to keep in mind!
> 
> On with the show!

Tiberius Blackthorn looks new and old. He has the same black hair that Kit wants to run his fingers through, the same restless body, the same straight back and soft nose. He’s still beautiful. He looks like every good dream Kit’s ever had. But he is new, too, in his uniform flecked with silver, and in the way he doesn’t come too close to Kit. 

Kit prods at his murky coffee with a spoon. His mug, the chipped one covered in a pattern of bees, has seen better days, but Kit still reaches for it when he wants a drink. They have their own mugs and cups. Tessa’s is a teacup, covered in whorls of delicate blue ivy. Jem has one a large sturdy mug in coffee-bean brown. Lia’s got a much smaller mug that she sometimes has a milky tea in, and the cartoon dog on the front stares in a way that makes Kit uneasy. 

Visitors have the plum mugs they keep in the cabinet. Kit slides one across the counter, towards Ty, and buttons his mouth so that words won’t come spilling out. He hasn’t felt this awkward in a long time, but he’s also not felt this alive, like his whole body might vibrate out of existence, like he’s humming and thrumming with energy. Like his soul is alight. 

“Thank you,” Ty says politely. He hasn’t said much since Kit started coughing in the library and Jem hurried in to drag him into the kitchen. The coffee is to get rid of the taste of fake banana that Jem shovelled down his throat. 

“What, none for me?” Jace asks, from where he’s lounging in the chair at the table. Kit turns round slowly, his head still pounding, and fixes Jace with a glare. 

“Make your own.”

“That’s not very nice,” Jace says, eyes glinting. “I came all this way to help you, you know. We both did.”

Kit doesn’t see how this is helping, how this could possibly be helping, but he doesn’t think there’s anybody on earth who could claim to know how Jace’s mind works. Maybe Alec, or Clary, but sadly Kit doesn’t have access to a Jace translator at the moment. 

He sneezes before he can respond, and the glint in Jace’s eyes grows more pronounced. He’s laughing at Kit. He’s in Kit’s house, uninvited, with his absurdly tiny legs, laughing at him while Ty stands impassively, sipping his coffee.

“You remember how I like my coffee,” Ty says all of a sudden. His voice is thoughtful, as though the idea of Kit remembering something about him is inconceivable. Or maybe just unexpected. 

Kit clears his throat, playing with the handle of his mug. “Yeah, I mean. Of course.”

The kitchen doesn’t stay silent for long, not with Jace Interrupting-Ass Herondale present. “You were drinking coffee at that age? I know we’re Shadowhunters, and self-destruction is the name of the game, but I’m surprised Julian didn't find a way to stop coffee from growing just so you couldn’t drink it.”

Kit snorts softly, burying his face in his drink. Lia’s voice travels down the hallway, shrill and insistent as she babbles, and Kit braces himself for impact. 

“I doubt he knew,” Ty says, and there’s a hint of something in his otherwise placid voice—exasperation, maybe? Kit doesn’t know. He doesn’t like not knowing something about Ty, even though logically it’s been years, and Ty’s probably gathered a thousand and one new things about himself that Kit isn’t privy to. _Logically,_ they didn't know everything about each other when they were younger, either. 

Ty hadn’t known that Kit loved him. Kit hadn’t known as much about the way Ty worked as he thought he did. One of those things has changed, and it’s Kit’s fault that the other one hasn’t. 

But Kit doesn’t like to think about that. 

Lia bursts into the room, her tiny pink socks slipping on the floor. She grabs Jace’s leg to keep her from going over, much to his alarm, and then glares at him when she’s upright like he’s the reason she fell in the first place. Jace looks even more alarmed, and it's hilarious. Lia is Kit's favourite person, hands down. 

“Why are you sick?” Lia demands, toddling over to Kit and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Kit! Why are you sick?”

“Ask the germs, not me.” Kit pokes her gently in the side of the head. “I’m fine though, just coughing everywhere, and sneezing.”

"Ew." Lia stares at him distrustfully, and Kit looms closer, pulling a face; he opens his eyes wide and twists his mouth, until it looks like he might sneeze all over her. She reels back in disgust, clamping a hand over her mouth, but her eyes are bright with laughter. 

“How sweet,” Jace drawls. Kit ignores him. He swings Lia up onto the counter beside his mug instead and leans beside her, where he can stop any fearless leaps before they begin. 

“Who is that man?” Lia whispers loudly, peering around his arm to stare blatantly at Ty. Not that Ty notices, too busy making some sort of motion towards Jace that Kit doesn’t quite catch. Kit frowns, but the motion stops and neither of them are very forthcoming. He wonders how much time they've spent together in the days leading up to their arrival; Jace mentioned something about stolen goods, and Ty seems exasperated, which is par for course around Jace. 

“That’s Ty,” Kit says, hesitating. “He’s—a friend. From when I lived somewhere else.”

Ty stiffens. Kit swallows, trepidation rising in his throat, but Ty doesn’t refute it. He doesn't add anything else, either. 

“Oh.” Lia swings her feet, her interest lost. “Can I have those biscuits?”

Jace snorts. 

Lia has one biscuit, and Jace has worked his way through three by the time Tessa and Jem return from wherever the hell they were. Kit aims a glare at Jem that hopefully betrays exactly how much he hates being alive right now, and Jem’s mouth twitches. It’s the opposite of sympathy, and Kit doesn’t appreciate it. 

Ty still hasn’t said anything. 

“Not that we don't love having you here, Jace, but you didn't say you were coming by.” Tessa pins Jace in his seat with a look. “Is everything okay?”

“Just answering your summons,” Jace says, spreading his hands. He grows serious pretty quickly, all things considered. “Magnus said you contacted him about possible faerie friends, but he and Alec are doing—” Jace scrunches up his nose, shrugging. “I don't know, something romantic and possibly life-endangering. So you’ve got me instead.”

“And Tiberius,” Jem adds, with a polite nod and a warm smile in Ty’s direction. “It’s nice to see you, by the way. Sorry I didn't say hello properly, but I didn't want Kit to throw up on the rug again.”

“That happened once and it was because of your cooking, old man, so don't even try it,” Kit mutters. He only notices because he’s looking so hard, but he thinks Ty smiles slightly. Even the possibility of that being true makes it hard to breathe. 

“Ty’s an expert on faerie matters now,” Jace says, shrugging. “I know you can handle it, both of you, but I also know that toddlers are horrible, and teenagers aren’t much better, so. Here we are."

Tessa makes an amused sound, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Exactly how bored have you been since Clary went on holiday with Simon?”

Jace pulls a face of exaggerated betrayal, and Kit resigns himself to Jace sticking around, if Clary’s not about to manage him. 

“What did he mean, that you’re an expert?” Kit’s mouth appears to have gotten too big for its boots, chattering away without his permission. He curses internally as everyone falls silent, expectant. Ty rotates his mug slowly in his hands, head tipped to the side, and glances briefly in the direction of Kit’s feet. 

For a minute, Kit doesn’t think he’s going to get an answer. 

And then Ty says, “I went to study at the Scholomance. Fae are a large part of the curriculum, so although I wouldn’t say expert, I know enough to help.”

And then he falls silent, still rotating his mug. 

“Right,” Kit says, clearing his throat. “Cool.”

He can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck. 

“How spectacularly awkward,” Jace says brightly. He's promptly elbowed in the ear by Tessa. 

At least Kit isn’t the only one that blushes: Ty turns a little red, too, just at the tops of his cheeks. It doesn’t help to cool Kit down. 

Tessa sighs pointedly. “I’ll put the kettle on again.”

*

Outside, it’s a crisp, cold day. The rain has stopped, at least, but the ground is still wet, and worms are making their way out of the earth. Kit passes spatterings of flowers, each one vibrant from the fresh drink, no longer drooping in the cold. Ty walks just a step ahead of him, not too far to be distant or blatantly ignoring him, but not at his side either. 

“You said it was over here?”

Ty isn’t even being rude or uncivil, either. That would probably be easier in the long run, give Kit an opening to snap back, to start talking, apologising, without it being incredibly awkward. There’s no openings like this. Ty is closed off, perfectly polite. 

“Kit.”

The sound of his name on Ty’s lips jolts Kit out of his own brain, which won’t stop going round and round in circles. Ty has stopped, turning to face Kit, and he realises that he’s stopped too. They’re supposed to be searching for signs of faeries, and while Kit resents the fact that he isn’t even allowed to take Lia as a buffer, he can respect that it’s important to get a good look at the place first. And it’s nice to be trusted with it, even if he’s suspicious about why he’s being trusted with it. 

Adults are probably meddling again. 

“Sorry, yeah. It’s, uh—Lia said it was this hedge, here.”

Kit points at the same brambly hedge where Lia went searching for gold eyes. Ty scans him, up and down, before nodding shortly and striding towards the hedge. He crouches down and examines the darkness, fingers twitching at his sides. 

“Do you think it’s serious?” Kit asks, grasping desperately for something to say. “The Warlock powers on their own aren’t a problem. I actually think it’s pretty cool. But if a cow told her to come and look for faeries, then that could be dangerous.”

“Are you asking about Lia’s powers or the possibility of faeries watching your home?”

Kit keeps jerking at the sound of Ty’s voice, and it’s becoming a problem. One that’s noticeable, especially to someone like Ty, who sees so much in so few seconds. It’s just surreal to hear it after so long of only thinking about it, wishing he _could_ hear it. 

“Both I guess. The faeries, though, since you’re the expert.”

Ty flushes a little at that, shifting to look further into the hedge. Kit finds himself smiling, drawn to him even with all the awkwardness lingering between them. 

“I imagine Lia’s family can teach her to avoid the influences of most animals.” Ty looks curiously delighted at the sentence, and Kit remembers that he loves animals, and that it’s probably a power he’d like to have, if only for a bit. 

“Great,” Kit says, wrinkling his face up, although he’s not as annoyed as he pretends to be. “That’s gonna be fun. Although I think we have to worry about all the wildlife being influenced by Lia, in all honesty.”

Ty swivels slightly to look at him. It’s not direct eye-contact, but Kit’s never expected that from Ty, and just the fact that he’s not being ignored is enough to settle that squirmy feeling in his stomach. 

“She sounds interesting. Dru says that Tavvy is a handful too, even though he’s older now and usually knows better.”

Kit laughs. “She told me what he did to Mark the other week, with the spaghetti.”

Ty’s expression flickers in surprise, and then flattens. “You talk to Dru?”

Any happy feelings from the past few minutes fade away quickly. Kit swallows, nodding tightly. 

“Yeah. I mean, Emma sent me a postcard or two, so I started sending some back. And then Dru had my number, and she calls all the time. I don't talk to everyone, but it’s kinda nice.” He grows quiet. 

“You don't talk to everyone,” Ty repeats. “Does that mean everyone except me?”

Kit steps forward immediately, crouching down to kneel beside him. “No!”

Ty recoils at the loud denial, and Kit winces. 

“Sorry,” he says, quieter this time but no less urgent. There’s mud seeping through the knees of his jeans, and he suspects he’s going to get a few looks later on, but as long as Jem doesn’t try to talk to him and Jace gets gagged, it’ll be fine. 

“I don't talk to Mark or Cristina, or Kieran or Helen or anyone. I hear stories from the others. It’s mostly just Emma and Dru, and sometimes Julian.” Kit frowns harshly. “I’m not saying this right, am I?”

Ty cocks his head. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, so I can’t tell you whether it’s right or not.”

“I just—” Kit flounders for a second, then huffs, zeroing in on Ty’s cautious expression, his bright eyes, turned down. His fingers are moving, restless as hummingbirds. Kit catches one, caught in a moment of bravery, squeezes it and then lets it go. “I wanted to send you a postcard, or a letter or something, but I didn't think you’d want to hear from me.”

“I did,” Ty says, as though it’s that easy. “I know I hurt you, but I wanted to hear from you. You’re the one who left. I wanted you to stay.”

Something rustles in the hedgerow before Kit can catch his breath. He stumbles to his feet, following Ty, who’s already whip-straight, his blade out. It takes him a few seconds, but he readies his stance beside Ty. 

A faerie melts out of the hedges. 

Gold-eyed, with long vines sprouting from the top of their head, a pointy chin and a victorious smile. 

“There is no need to talk,” the faerie says sweetly. “We mean no harm. We simply wish to meet with the little one. She has caught the attention of the piskies, and we will meet at sundown, three days from now to discuss her future.”

Kit growls, reaching for his dagger, but the faerie throws him a sharp grin and disappears again. The leaves rustle, the wind whips through the fields, and Ty hums thoughtfully. 

“What the hell did that mean?” Kit asks, whirling to face him. “They can’t have Lia.”

“I don't think they want her. Not to keep or take. I think they want to know what she can do.”

“Ty,” Kit snaps, but Ty wraps a hand around his to stave off his protests. It does the job, cutting through Kit’s fear. His hand is warm and dry, and his grip is strong, anchoring Kit to the moment. 

“I promise we will protect her. Jem and Tessa can decide how to proceed, but the faeries won’t interfere until sundown, three days from now. They never lie about meetings. We have time.”

Kit sucks in a breath, steadying himself. “Alright. Alright, yeah. Don't think I’m not staying up with her until then, though. You might be the expert, but I don't trust them.”

“Sensible. I’ll stand guard with you.”

Ty squeezes his hand once, and then he lets go, and begins to walk back the way they came, leaving Kit in stunned silence.

*

“You’ve been training.”

Kit doesn’t drop his dagger, but it’s a close thing. He spins on his heel, breathing harshly, and narrows his eyes at Ty. He’s leaning against the doorframe of the training room, entirely unbothered by the tension in the house, his eyes sharp as they travel the length of the room. It’s only been a few hours since they came back and relayed the news, and everything’s grown sharp and worried in the time between then and now. 

Jem is in the study with Lia, watching her while they plough through every book imaginable that might give them a clue about what to do. Tessa and Jace are out, putting up more protective wards and scouting the area. Kit hasn’t been able to be useful, not since he came back through the front door, jittery and out of sorts. 

He’s already set up the blow-up bed on Lia’s bedroom floor, ready for later tonight. Lia thinks it’s a sleepover, and she’s demanding snacks. Kit knows she’s not oblivious to the tension, but so far she hasn’t said anything. He fully expects to be interrogated later tonight.

“It’s either this,” Kit says, lowering his dagger and wiping sweat from his brow, “or get my ass kicked the next time we get dragged into Shadowhunter stuff. Which seems like it’ll be soon.” Kit shrugs. “I like the option where I can hold my own best.”

It’s better than sitting and doing nothing. It’s better than thinking about Ty, and the things he said, and the way he didn't seem angry, just careful. 

“Can you?” Ty tips his head to the side, ever so slightly. His voice is soft, but Kit isn’t stupid. It sounds like a challenge. Not derision, or doubt, but a challenge. His pulse ticks up, and his mouth parts a little. He licks his bottom lip. 

“Want to find out?”

The words are out before he can stop and think. It’s not cocky, exactly. It’s an invitation, and he finds himself holding his breath as he waits for Ty to either accept, or laugh in his face. He doesn’t think Ty would actually laugh in his face, but there’s this fear that something will happen, the fear that he’s going to get cut down, or dismissed. 

Ty steps into the room. His shoes snap against the ground, and he toes them off when he reaches the black mat unrolled against the far wall. Kit watches, mouth suddenly dry as Ty sheds his jacket, leaving him in just his t-shirt. 

“You’re wearing workout gear,” Kit says, eyebrows shooting up. He puts his dagger back in the sheath around his thigh, the one that looks hot on literally everyone else, but always makes Kit feel like an idiot. He walks closer, casually, snagging his water bottle off the ground as he goes and taking a swig.

Ty glances down at his clothes; stretchy, black attire, fighting gear but softer. His pants cling to him. Kit resolutely stares at his own feet as he steps onto the mat, rather than at the shape of Ty’s thighs. He brought extra clothes then. Extra clothes indicate that he planned on staying, at least a little bit, before they were given a three day warning. 

“That’s generally what you wear when you want to work out,” Ty points out. “I didn't expect you to be here, but it’s more effective to spar with two people, obviously. Unless you’d prefer not to?”

Kit puts his water bottle down. Ty doesn’t seem upset about their cut-off conversation, and Kit has every intention of putting things to rights just as soon as he figures out what he wants to say. He wants to ask so many questions, not least of all: what are you really doing here, and what did Jace mean when he said you were stolen goods?

But questions can come later, when Ty isn’t falling into position, the same challenge still sitting heavy on his mouth. 

“No, I want to,” Kit says. He lets himself grin, slow and easy. “I said I’d show you what I learned anyway.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“It was implied—”

Ty surges forward, all controlled movement, faster than a striking snake before Kit can finish his sentence. He just barely dodged the first strike of palms and fists, and the second hit catches him in the side. It’s light, but it still knocks the breath out of him. Ty steps back, arms up, body coiled. 

Kit blinks, hand ghosting to where he was hit. It doesn’t even throb, but he feels it, still. He plants his feet and rolls his neck, ready this time. “Well, alright then.”

There’s a flicker of a smile around Ty’s mouth, before his expression grows serious again. His eyes dart all over Kit’s body, cataloguing the movements of his muscles before Kit even makes them. Kit takes a deep breath, feints left, and then throws himself at his opponent. 

They meet in the middle. It’s fast, and it’s not violent but it takes up _so much room_ in Kit’s brain, that he’s touching Ty, these quick glancing hits that are returned tenfold. Joy sparks in his chest, glee at having someone to move with like this, someone he can trust not to hurt him and someone he can trust not to take it too easy on him. An equal. A _friend._ He’s nowhere near as sharp as Ty, but he’s still good. He’s better than he was. 

His breath comes faster as they spar, turning in circles, spinning and ducking. Kit gets a foot around Ty’s ankle and tugs; Ty falls and rolls, coming up smoothly and spinning, already onto the next move. He moves gracefully, like a dancer, and Kit feels clumsy in comparison, but he knows he isn’t. He knows he’s strong and precise and fast.

Not quite fast enough, though. 

Ty gets close, ducking under a swing that goes wide, and lands a blow in Kit’s stomach that knocks the breath out of him. Hands on his shoulders shove him back, and his heel goes off the edge of the mat; Ty grazes against his thigh, just as his back hits the wall. 

Kit sucks in a breath. A blade meets the base of his throat. 

“I guess you win,” Kit says, wheezing. His shoulders are pressed against the cold wall, his body singing with adrenaline. The sheath at his thigh is empty, and Ty holds Kit’s own dagger against his throat, and it’s so much like the first time they met that for a moment, Kit can’t breathe. 

“Yes,” Ty says, gaze fixed on Kit’s cheek. “But I think you proved your point.”

Kit laughs breathlessly, dropping his head back against the wall. “I’m going to have bruises.”

Ty inhales sharply, almost inaudible. Kit lowers his head to find Ty staring at his throat, exposed when he tipped his head back. 

“Yes,” Ty says again. He swallows, his throat moving, and Kit understands why Ty was so drawn to the motion. “But so will I.”

They’re both breathing fast, Kit realises, through a kind of stunned fog. Not just from the exercise, which was probably tame compared to Ty’s training. But from the closeness, the tension. Ty’s cheeks are flushed pink, and his hair is unusually dishevelled. Kit can see his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“You know what I hate?” Kit asks abruptly, making no move to get away from Ty’s grip. Why would he? It’s the only place he’s ever felt safe. One hand on his shoulder, pressing him against the wall, and the other holding the blade, and still Kit feels the safest he has in a while. 

Ty’s voice softens, but his grip tightens. “What?”

_I hate that I left. I hate that you didn't feel the same. I hate that I let that stop me from staying. I hate that we can't talk as easily as we used to. I hate that I didn't try to talk to you before today. I hate that I still feel exactly the same as I did years ago._

“I hate that you’re taller than me, still,” Kit says, laughing a little. “It’s been years, and I actually grew, you know? I didn't think I would. Sugar cookies stunt growth, Jem says. But I grew anyway, and then you come back and you’re still taller than me. Pretty unfair, don't you think?”

The tension leaves Ty’s shoulders. He sighs, almost, an imperceptible sound, and lowers the blade. He doesn’t remove his hand though. 

“I think it’s unfair that you’re still the same Kit, no matter how much you’ve grown. But I’m glad too, that you haven't changed.” Ty wrinkles his nose slightly. It's adorable. “It’s confusing.”

Kit snickers at his perturbed expression, but he finds a familiar fondness rushing up inside of him. “Emotions are like that sometimes. I’m glad you’re still you, too.”

Still beautiful, inside and out. Kit can’t _say_ that, of course, but it’s okay to think it. 

Ty draws back, and for the first time since he arrived, his smile isn’t faint; it’s brilliant, bright and true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continued, lovely support, you wonderful people! I hope you liked this one! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought! Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Edit: I now have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jamiesfreckles) if people are interested!


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